


Pranks

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Endings [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, Gen, Gen Work, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can you write something with Zevran helping Sera pull pranks on people around Skyhold? It would be a hilarious mess."<br/>Written for a prompt on Tumblr, and then posted up in instalments on the blog. May or may not take place <s>after</s> during Unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pranks

The next week at Skyhold grew more relaxed as the Inquisition adjusted to the presence of the Hero of Ferelden and his self-proclaimed “dashing and charming travelling companion”, and they to the Inquisition and Skyhold.

Theron and Zevran had quickly settled into the apparent routine of going to the tavern for the evening, usually with Herah in tow. The Dalish elf was amused to see that Zevran had managed to grow quite enamoured, for lack of a better word, with the towering wall of muscle and very ungainly looking horns that was the Iron Bull.

“I feel like I should be jealous.” The black-haired elf murmured teasingly when neither he or Zevran were part of the conversation.

“You are not already?” The Antivan replied, sounding faintly surprised as he sipped at his brandy.

“If I wasn’t afraid that he could crush either of us with a single thumb, I think I would be.” Theron shrugged. Zevran snorted, for a moment just watching the Iron Bull and Herah loudly discuss some mission or another they’d been on in Orlais. From the sounds of it, the Inquisitor travelled far and wide with a steady regularity, not just around Ferelden.

“He is certainly impressive.” The blond pointed out.

“Far more lively than Sten, that’s for sure.”

“Perhaps we travelled with the wrong Qunari?”

Theron bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, and busied himself with his ale. He felt an itch at his side, and absently reached to scratch it. His hand brushed something warm and moving, and he started away as a blonde elven woman snatched her hand away from his coinpurse - or, after double-checking, where it had been - grinning widely.

“Hey!”

His indignant protest drew the attention of the two Qunari, and Herah sighed even as the blonde laughed.

“Sera…” The Inquisitor warned, and the newcomer scowled as she tossed Theron’s coinpurse from one hand to the other. Theron and Zevran watched, wondering if this was a common occurrence.

“Not like I filled that quiver of his with mud.” She grumbled, and the Dalish elf frowned at her. She looked at him then, expression thoughtful. “Well, at least I can say I got to touch the Hero of Ferelden’s coinpurse.” She grinned in a way that showed her teeth, and tossed the leather pouch back with a mad giggle. “Catch.” She added courteously. With that, she slipped back into the crowds of the tavern, and despite her tattered red shirt and yellow leggings she was quickly lost from sight.

“What, exactly, was that?” Zevran asked, trying his level best not to dwell on the ‘coinpurse’ innuendo yet. That was one that hadn’t occurred to him.

“That was Sera.” Iron Bull explained with the air of someone announcing a death. “She can be a handful, but she doesn’t mean harm. Usually.”

“One of her contributions to the Inquisition was a jar of bees.” Herah added, keeping an eye on the crowd as she leaned back in her chair.

“Bees.” Theron repeated flatly once he was finished stowing his coinpurse away in the safe depths of his pack.

“And some wasps.” The Inquisitor nodded. “I probably should have warned you about her.”

“I am impressed; none of us realised she was there until she was nearly away.” Zevran shrugged in response to the ranger’s faintly betrayed look. “Not many can sneak up on _us_.” He pointed out, and the ranger had to nod in reluctant agreement.

 

A few days later, Theron was woken up abruptly by Zevran all but slamming the bedroom door shut.

The ranger sat up, automatically reaching for his bow before he realised there was no threat in the room. He stared in blank, sleepy confusion at the Antivan, who actually seemed to be panting as if he’d been running.

“What?” Zevran asked when he realised he was being stared at, schooling his wide grin into something more collected as he stopped leaning against the door.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Theron yawned widely, falling back onto the bed with a tired groan. For once, he’d wanted a _late_ start to the morning.

“Well, if anyone asks, I have never left this room since last night.” The blond said as he sat back down on the bed. The Dalish elf frowned, and realised that Zevran was already dressed for the day.

“Why?”

The former Crow sighed as he lay back on the bed, propping his head in one hand and watching Theron.

“Well, you remember that blonde elven lass from the tavern, the one who touched your coinpurse?”

The ranger rolled his eyes when the corners of Zevran’s lips twitched upwards at the innuendo. They were both simply waiting for the opportunity for Zevran to use it himself.

“Yes.”

“Well, you have been in such long discussions with the Inquisitor every day, I decided to get to know her to pass the time. She is quite the lively one.”

Theron frowned.

“I hope you haven’t gotten to know her too well.”

Zevran blinked when he realised what he had sounded like, and shook his head.

“Of course not. She is not quite my type, anyway.” He explained quickly, making a point to blatantly look the ranger up and down, even though the blankets hid half of his body from view. “I meant to say that we are now partners in crime, as of ten minutes ago.”

Theron blinked at the blond lying next to him, and then sighed wearily.

“What did you do?”

Zevran flashed a mischievous grin, much like the one he’d been wearing when he’d come into the room.

“You know those ravens that Leliana uses for her messengers?”

“Of course.”

“And you know that fairly intimidating Orlesian mage who calls everyone ‘dear’? The one with the strange hat?”

Theron narrowed his eyes warily.

“Zevran, what did you _do_?” He repeated.

“I must confess, it was not my idea. Sera’s entirely. I suspect she will say it was my idea in turn, if someone was to ask her. But… We may have taken one or two of those birds and set them loose in Madame de Fer’s chambers not ten minutes ago. We opened the windows, so the birds could get out, of course.”

Zevran held up an arm to block the pillow thrown at him from hitting him in the face, but it was too late. The chaos had begun.

 

Later that day, Theron was down by the stables trying to hide his awe at seeing a Red Hart up close, when a small commotion from the barn attracted his attention. Curious, he padded through the wide doorway to look for the disturbance, and saw a flash of tattered red.

“Oh. Hey!” Sera barely looked up from the table placed at the other end of the barn. The ranger glanced around for Blackwall, but realised he was nowhere in sight.

“Hello.” Theron answered, watching as the fellow elf picked up some of the tools scattered around what seemed to be a mostly-finished wood carving of a griffon. “What are you doing?” He asked carefully.

Sera paused with her armful of tools, looking rather like a startled squirrel as she looked over at him.

“Nothing, yeah?” She replied, going back to whatever her business was, picking up the last few stray tools with a grin.

Theron heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Zevran walking up to him with a sly smile.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re egging each other on?” He sighed. The blond chuckled.

“Perhaps cos we are?” Sera called over from halfway up the stairs to the barn’s upper floor.

“I’m not sure I want to know what you’re doing. It’d make me an accomplice.” The ranger grumbled. Zevran stepped closer, pulling him in for a brief and downright chaste kiss.

“For the record, this one _was_ my idea.” The Antivan purred as he wandered into the barn to no doubt help Sera with whatever prank this was.

Theron sighed, but watched from just outside the barn as Zevran walked carefully along the exposed rafters, placing the woodcarving tools in places just out of plain sight on the beams at Sera’s suggestions.

“Never knew Zevran could be like this.” The Dalish elf muttered to the Hart, which snorted in sympathy as it rubbed it’s antlers against the stable wall.

“What’s going on here?”

Theron shrunk back to the fringes, watching hopefully unnoticed as Blackwall strode in through the other door to the barn and frowned up at the two elves.

“ _Braska_.”

“Frig!”

Then, in usion.

“Not my idea!”

Theron sighed as two blonde elves fled the barn, scattering the few tools they hadn’t been able to hide.

“They get on like a house on fire.” He muttered to himself, hearing a burst of Sera’s laughter floating back as Blackwall resignedly began to pick up his tools.

 

What finally brought the chaos to a gradual end was that Theron woke up one morning to find all of his shirts gone, as well as any of Zevran’s he could have slipped on. A confused search of the room revealed that he still had his leather armour where he’d left it the previous night, so he wouldn’t have to wander Skyhold barechested and with his scars on display.

Relieved, Theron quickly pulled the armour on. In the time they’d spent at Skyhold, he’d gotten used to not wearing his armour constantly for once, even if he still carried his weapons with him. Suitably dressed for the day, even if he knew the bare leather against his skin would chafe if he kept it on for too long with no undershirt to pad it, Theron set off in search of a certain Antivan elf. The tavern would be the best bet, he decided. Zevran seemed to hang around there with Iron Bull or Sera waiting for Theron to emerge from the War Room. On the walk down, he couldn’t help overhearing Herah Adaar talking with the dwarf Varric in the main hall, and he was sure he heard Sera’s name. Sighing, the ranger kept walking, nodding in blunt greeting as he passed by.

“... Remove that stick from his arse, yeah?”

The ranger had grown accustomed to Sera’s accent enough to pick it out immediately from the chatter around the tavern, and he looked up. There they were, up on the roof of the tavern and seemingly deep in conversation.

“I’m not sure-” The former Crow began.

“Zevran, where in the Beyond did you put _all_ of my shirts?” Theron called up sharply, and Zevran peered down at him guiltily. “Can you get down here?” He added, a little softer. There was little hope of conducting a discreet conversation with one party on the roof and everyone who walked by able to hear and see the discussion.

Theron waited patiently as Zevran and Sera climbed back through a window into the tavern.

“How did you know it was me?” The blond asked as he trailed out. Sera didn’t join them, but Theron caught a glimpse of her at the open window that led out onto the roof.

“A hunch, given the mischief you’ve been up to recently.” Theron answered dryly. He shook his head.

“It seems we have taken this a step too far.” The Antivan thought aloud, tapping his chin pensively.

“Zevran.”

“My apologies, _mi amor_. It was supposed to be a bit of fun.”

“I know, but despite our role here at Skyhold, we are technically still guests of the Inquisition. I don’t want to spoil you enjoying yourself, but you and Sera may need to calm down.”

The two were quiet, Theron wondering.

“Why are you suddenly pulling pranks?” The Dalish elf questioned, and Zevran shrugged, clearly reluctant.

“Well, you are cooped up in that room all day with the Inquisitor, and sadly I have long since run out of conversation topics with Ambassador Montilyet.”

Theron smiled weakly.

“I didn’t expect _pranks_ to be your outlet for boredom.”

“Perhaps I have grown too restless.”

“You need a hobby.” Theron teased. “One that doesn’t involve annoying the people around you.”

“Or perhaps I simply need a few days with you all to myself rather than the Inquisition?” The blond all but purred, and then he took the Dalish elf’s wrist. “Shall we go get your shirts?” The Antivan queried. “Lucky for you I know exactly where most of them are.”

“Most? What do you mean?” The ranger asked with a sinking feeling as Zevran led him towards the stables.

“Well, I could hardly hide all of them by myself, Sera knows where the others are.”

Theron ran his free hand hand over his braids in frustration.

 

“Do you have any other tricks planned?” Theron asked once they’d gathered up the majority of his shirts and had deposited them safely back in their room.

“There was an idea to take Solas’ paints for our own nefarious purposes, or replace Varric’s latest manuscript with a far more riveting tale about a devastatingly handsome Antivan assassin and his stoic Dalish lover who just so happened to save the world one time.” Zevran explained, and Theron snorted.

“Have you written a replacement yet?”

Zevran hesitated, clearly wondering how much more he should betray his partner in crime, but he nodded slowly. Theron frowned in thought, and then smirked conspiratorily.

“It would be a shame to let all that effort go to waste, then.”

The Antivan beamed.

“Perhaps we could do this one together, yes? I distract Varric, and you make the switch?” He suggested. The Dalish elf nodded in agreement.

“ _After_ I read what you’re going to replace his manuscript with, of course.”

Zevran chuckled.

“Or I could read the best parts aloud? Do not worry, _mi amor_ , I made sure to do you _definite_ justice.” The blond’s golden eyes flicked up and down his body, lingering on one or two areas, and then Theron was immensely glad the bedroom door had a lock on it.

  
Two months later Varric’s new series was an unexpected hit, and Zevran ensured that he got the first signed copy, along with a small share of the royalties.

**Author's Note:**

> I found Sera's voice incredibly hard to pin down, even after watching videos full of her dialogue. So, that's why she doesn't actually speak that much. Sorry, but she's tricky to write.  
> http://a-mahariels-travels.tumblr.com/


End file.
